


I'm Playing Easy To Get

by Das_verlorene_Kind



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Butt Plugs, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Patrick isn't very romantic, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Top!Pete, Valentine's Day, Wall Sex, bottom!patrick, but very horny, mostly smut though let's be real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 07:20:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13676937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Das_verlorene_Kind/pseuds/Das_verlorene_Kind
Summary: Fuck, this isn’t good. They’re in public, in a dressing room in a shitty sports store; sure, there aren’t many other customers and sure, the terrible music might hide any noises. Still, it’s a stupid risk. Old Patrick never would’ve let this happen.But Patrick decides his old self was an asshole, and also, his old self wasn’t a sex-deprived dad with a sex toy inside and a willing Pete in front of him. Pete is half-naked (still wearing his shirt as well, as if that was somehow the magic apology that made all of this decent), all tan tattooed skin and bright, wanting eyes under black lashes, the epitome of bad decisions and well, Patrick is a few years too late to be able to resist.





	I'm Playing Easy To Get

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's day, everyone! I bring you some fluff and lots of porn, haha. I swear next time I'll do a real story again and not just abuse these one-shots to cram in as much smut that doesn't fit into my longer running fics as possible. 
> 
> Whoo, and I have like, half a dozen AUs in which Pete and Patrick are all angsty and sad, but then I have exactly this one (1) AU here they get married and just live a pretty normal happy life that I always abuse for smut... Sorry. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy some bottom dad Patrick because hey, even I need variety sometimes. Title still stolen from a Morrissey song though. ;)  
> Thanks to Snitches for beta reading!

It’s been five months since Patrick’s life has changed majorly, and all of it due to a tiny, screaming bundle of a girl. 19 inches, 8 pounds, named Lilly.

Their baby – it’s a dream Patrick has had for over a decade, and to see it finally come true… Oh, it’s glorious, it’s beautiful, it’s a miracle of life and he’s not ashamed to have burst into tears when that screaming little baby had finally, finally been placed into his arms after tons of trouble and paperwork and endless days full of worries.

But it’s so much more than that.

It’s also everything else that people talk about less: Sleepless nights with endless screaming and muttered death threats as he kicks Pete out of bed because it’s your turn, fucker, I swear, I’ll kill you if you don’t get up now, a vastly reduced social life even by Patrick’s standards, and Patrick swears there’s not a single piece of clothing in their household that’s not covered in vomit stains.

And it’s scary; sometimes, Patrick’s heart aches at the thought of just how much another human being depends on him. How much he means to Lilly. It’s nothing like his relationship with Pete, this is a baby, someone who’s bound to him for the next twenty-one years no matter what, he’s shaping the rest of this human’s life and it fills him with fear sometimes. It makes him shake and want to cry and want to curl up, just to worry endlessly over every single tiny mistake he might have made.

It’s stressful in every regard, and that’s why Pete proposed to let Patrick’s mom babysit their little girl for Valentine’s Day. Usually, Patrick isn’t much of a fan of romance, and after almost two decades spent in a relationship with Pete, after all these years of marriage, his ideal Valentine’s Day is just staying in with pajamas and pizza and escaping the hell of a day that is full of over-bloated, forced romance and potentially the paparazzi. Old Patrick would’ve scoffed at this.

New Patrick had said yes and speed-dialed his mom before Pete could even act smug about it. The pajamas and pizza plan stays, but Patrick was generous enough to agree to go shopping with Pete (which he really considers a great display of love) and he even agreed to let Pete pick out one of the movies they’re going to watch. Damn, having a baby really made him soften up.

 

When the day comes, Patrick can’t help but feel a tiny bit of relief. He loves their baby girl, loves her to death, but he’d also love to have just one day of feeling like a normal human being again – without screaming and vomiting, without endless, crushing worries, without the constant pressure. He still hates Valentine’s day, yet can’t help to be glad to have an excuse to get his mom to babysit. Not that she objects, on the contrary, she is very eager to spend time with her grandchild.

Finally, they’re back home again, stumbling through the door together.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Pete asks with a grin, already throwing aside his overpriced cardigan and equally expensive shirt. Normally, Patrick would have a word or two about that, especially since they have a kid now and need to be a good example for her, but Lilly isn’t here to see and Patrick can’t bring himself to care.

“Oh, I’m so with you,” Patrick groans instead as his own shirt, cardigan, and jeans join the trail of clothes they leave behind on the way to the bedroom. “Fuck, Pete, I’ve never been agreeing with you more…!”

Pete’s grin widens as he throws Patrick to the bed. “I knew it!” He exclaims, “I just knew it… God, I know we’ve been waiting for this for so fucking long…!”

Patrick laughs, and gathers Pete into his arms. They’re both stripped down to their underwear, and Patrick sighs at the contact with warm, inviting skin. “Yeah, we have. We deserve this.”

“Mhm,” Pete mumbles unintelligibly as he presses a sloppy kiss to Patrick’s cheek. “Love you, Patrick.”

“Love you, too,” Patrick says with a yawn, and a moment later, they both get what they wanted – blissful, serene sleep.

 

When Patrick wakes up, he has no sense of time or anything. Pete is sitting next to him, playing on his phone, but he puts it aside when he notices his husband waking up.

“The baby?” Patrick slurs, voice still heavy from sleep. “’s she alright?”

“Lilly’s not here, dumbass. She’s with your mom,” Pete says affectionately as he cards through Patrick’s sleep-tousled hair. “You can sleep a little longer.”

Wow, that’s got to be the third-best sentence Patrick has ever heard from Pete, right after their first I love you and the Yes, I do at their wedding. With a satisfied sigh, Patrick turns around, and falls asleep again within seconds.

 

Next time Patrick wakes up, he actually feels rested for the first time in months. When has he last gotten that much uninterrupted, quiet sleep? Sometimes B.C – before child. He sits up, lazily pretends to stretch his limbs, and looks to his right. Now, Pete’s the one who’s asleep, still clutching his phone in his hand. Patrick gently takes it away from him, places it on the nightstand, and gives his sleeping husband a small kiss. God knows he deserves the rest, Pete’s always been a troubled sleeper and he suffers even more ever since a child threw off every last bit of sleeping routine.

With that being taken care of, Patrick’s brain reminds him of the next problem.

Above everything else, Patrick is fucking horny.

He can feel his boner throbbing between his legs, it’s probably a miracle he didn’t just come in his sleep like the sex-deprived teen that he isn’t. Well, the teen part isn’t true – the sex-deprived part though…

Patrick tries not to think about it as he stumbles towards the bathroom. With a screaming baby on their hands, it’s not like he and Pete have had much time for sex (or much time for anything, for that matter) in the past few months. He can’t recall more than some lazy groping in the few nights Lilly actually slept in her room, always with the fear she might wake up in the back of their heads. Yeah, and Patrick can recall a blowjob, distinctly, and he’s sure they may have had sex once or twice, probably somewhere in a toilet stall at the studio because neither of them had any more decency left to uphold anyway, and because it was the only time Lilly wasn’t with them.

Shit. That really isn’t looking good. Patrick sits down on the edge of the bathtub, puts his face in his hands. He’s been too exhausted lately to miss physical contact much, but right now, he swears he’s fucking dying over the lack of sex, as if his asshole brain decided to shove every bit of lust into this short window of time where he might actually get laid.

Of course, now of all times, Pete has to sleep. There’s no way Patrick can wake him up, he’s not that much of a douchebag.

 

But that doesn’t mean Patrick can’t get ready.

 

A grin lights up his face as an idea sparks in his brain. He hasn’t bottomed in a while, and he certainly hasn’t touched the drawer of the nightstand containing his measly amount of personal sex toys (in no way close to the size of Pete’s). It’s not something he’s up to often, but this is a special day, and Patrick is fucking aching for it.

As discreetly as he can, he sneaks back into the bedroom, and opens his drawer. Most of their shared stuff like handcuffs and such are somewhere in Pete’s, but Patrick does own a few things he’s not willing to share with Pete – such as the glass plug he’s reaching for right now. It’s simple and transparent because no way can Patrick bring himself to shove something neon-colored up his butt, he likes to keep it classy, unlike Pete. There’s a bottle of lube, too, and Patrick grabs both items and sneaks back into the bathroom.

In the cold light of day, the butt plug looks out of place and obscene. Patrick sighs, but his cock clearly wins out here. He turns on the faucet, and decides that Pete owns him one of those stupid bath bombs for his efforts. It turns the water into a pretty shade of purple, and for a while, Patrick just sinks into the tub. No baby that screams, no executives from the label demanding something, no Pete that complains about the water temperature and also manages to take up way more space than anyone that’s 5’6” is legally allowed to take up in a bathtub. Just Patrick.

And his throbbing erection.

Part of Patrick just wants to jerk off and get it over with, but he’s not going to give in that easily. This day better be fucking special. Patrick turns over, gets on all fours, spreads his legs. He reaches for the lube, spreads as much as he can over the plug; he lets his slicked-up fingers glide between his cheeks, circling over the tight pucker. With a moan, Patrick gently slides in the first finger, then a second, testing the stretch; he isn’t very patient today. He eyes the plug, then goes for a third finger – it burns at first, until the awkward position finally allows Patrick to find his prostate and shit, he almost forgot how good that feels. It’ll be even better when Pete’s cock will be there soon. With such tempting thoughts, Patrick feels himself relaxing, feels how he loosens around his fingers, how pain makes way for pleasure. His cock jumps when he feathers over his prostate again, disappointed over being neglected; as much as Patrick wants to touch himself, he reaches for the plug instead.

Everything between his legs is wet and loose; Patrick shudders at the coldness of the glass, standing in such stark contrast to the warm, purple bath water. The plug is more difficult to take than his fingers, it’s hard and unforgiving, a foreign presence in his body that he needs a moment to adjust to. But it’s stretching his hole in the most delicious way, and Patrick can’t help but whimper.

Once the plug sits snug between his cheeks, Patrick takes a moment to breathe. Everything feels too hot all of the sudden, each wave of water against his skin is fire, and everything touching his cock is just pure torture. He’s loose and prepped, but he hasn’t worn a plug in a while; it’s weird, there’s no friction, no hard thrusts, no Pete whispering into his ear as he slams his dick inside of Patrick. The plug is filling him up, but that only makes the aching worse.

Patrick watches the water go down the drain as he tries to gather himself. The plug is supposed to be a surprise, after all. He’s sure Pete will more than appreciate his very romantic efforts.

When he feels secure enough, Patrick gets up, and gets dressed. His legs are shaking a little, and he feels the blush burning on his face, two pink roses blooming on pale skin. It can be blamed on the hot bath he just took. Eager for the upcoming sessions of sex, Patrick stumbles into the bedroom.

 

Pete isn’t there.

 

Annoyed that this already isn’t going according to plan, Patrick calls out his husband’s name while he walks out of the bedroom. The plug still feels a little weird, it’s just there, so present, but not satisfying at all. Damn it, where is Pete when he needs him?!

Turns out, Pete is standing in the hallway, fully dressed, just putting on an expensive pair of sneakers.

“Hey there, honey,” he greets Patrick with a bright smile, “you took so long in the bathroom, I just used the guest bathroom and got ready.”

“I had a nice bath,” Patrick grumbles, “and you’re getting ready for what, exactly?”

“We’re going shopping, remember?” Pete looks at him with a smile, but the way he raises his eyebrows is a warning.

Patrick stares at him dumbfoundedly.

Fuck. Of course.

He completely forgot the promise he made to Pete. Couch and pizza for the price of going out.

“And we are going,” Pete says in a warning tone, as if he had read Patrick’s mind. “You promised, Patrick, there’s no way I’ll let you complain your way out of this.”

Patrick really, really wants to object. Firstly, because he fucking hates shopping with Pete, on all days, and especially on Valentine’s day when everything will be crowded. Secondly, and more importantly, he’s wearing a goddamn butt plug.

“Can’t we just…?” Patrick says in a small voice, tries to search for an excuse. “Go to bed first?”

“No fucking way.” Pete shakes his head, and Patrick really, really curses this damn day. Since when does Pete object to sex? “You just don’t want to go. I’m not that easily tricked. We’re going out.”

Well, shit. The disadvantage of a long marriage is that Pete knows all his tricks, and of course, he knows exactly why Patrick proposed to stay in bed. He might not know about the plug, but anyway, that plan is out of the window.

Pete keeps staring at him expectantly, but he’s not smiling anymore. It’s an age-old argument, it’s a fight they’ve had for years – Pete being more on the extroverted side, Pete being the one who screams his love from rooftops and stages and everywhere it might be appropriate (or not), while Patrick has never been one for public affection. It’s just a trip to a store – knowing Pete, it’s probably expensive high fashion shit – but it means a lot to Pete, who already sacrifices a lot today just to not make Patrick uncomfortable. And it’s not like the sex toy part was planned.

There’s no way Patrick can say no.

Alarmed, Patrick’s mind races through the options he has left – rush to the bathroom to get that damn plug out of him again, or just rolling with it and pretending he’s fine, that there isn’t smooth glass keeping him stretched open.

The rational decision would be to just take it out. But dammit, Patrick hasn’t gone to all this effort for nothing. Plus, it doesn’t solve the problem of him being as horny as a sex-deprived sixteen-year old. Why has no one talked to him about this side-effect of parenthood!?

“Yeah,” Patrick hears himself say, “yeah, we’re going, and I’m sorry, Pete. I… Just forgot.” That at least is part of the truth, and maybe, Patrick can just hide the other part of the truth that includes a plug and a boner that he’ll hide behind the longest coat he can find. He knows Pete has done this, he’s worn this shit in public so fuck it, Patrick can do it, too.

At least, Pete’s annoyance melts away, and once Patrick is all dressed, he gets a shy kiss from his husband. “’s fine, Patrick. Let’s go, okay?”

Patrick just nods, grabs a scarf and his baseball cap on the way out, and shoves his phone into his pocket just in case there’s an emergency call from his mom. On the way to the car, he thinks he can do this. The presence of the plug is strange, but it’s endurable.

Once Patrick sits down, he regrets everything. But before he knows, Pete has already started the engine – the vibration is not helping, fuck – and Patrick is too much of a coward to jump out of a moving car, and too proud to admit the truth.

So, all that’s left is to grit his teeth and try to focus on everything, anything else.

“Thank you,” Pete says while they’re at a stoplight, and his hand is on Patrick’s thigh, making him almost jump out of his seat. He’s aching, his erection pressed against the denim of his jeans, and each touch is so frustratingly not enough. “I know you hate this, but I just wanted to do something with you today. Besides sitting on the couch.”

“You’re welcome,” Patrick replies weakly. If only Pete’s hand would slide up higher; fuck, Patrick wouldn’t be above fucking in the car right now. Which of course is unrealistic, and also, Pete withdraws his hand and puts it back on the steering wheel like a responsible adult. “Where are we going?”

Oh God, Patrick hopes it isn’t Gucci, or another trip to the shoe shop. He can’t walk into an expensive store, and eye clothes worth a couple of thousand dollars while sporting a semi (hidden, but a nuisance nonetheless) and wearing a stupid butt plug, he just can’t.

“We’re buying gym clothes,” Pete says with a grin. “Well. I figured you didn’t want to repeat the arguments about expensive cardigans and collectors edition sneakers. So, we’re buying something sensible in this little indie store Andy told me about. It’s all nice and down to earth, no kitsch, no forced romance… Sounds good?”

“Totally,” Patrick replies, because he’s lost his eloquence by now.

“Awesome!” Pete cheers, and Patrick just prays to whatever deity might be listening that no paparazzi will hang out around the store.

He’s lucky in that regard; they get into the store unnoticed. There’s loud music playing, and a lone store clerk stands behind the counter, looking like he doesn’t want to be here. Patrick sympathizes a lot.

“You need any help?” The store clerk asks, politely. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to recognize either of them.

“We’re good,” Pete waves his hand, and drags Patrick with him to a nearby display of neon-colored tank tops.

The guy just nods politely, and goes back to being disinterested. Of course, no one wants to be in a goddamn sports store on Valentine’s day, not even the employees. Patrick doesn’t want to be here either.

But Pete does, so Patrick just follows as Pete keeps on babbling about the fabric of a certain shirt, throws around terms like breathable and moisture management. Hands shoved into the pockets of his coat to make sure it keeps covering his crotch, Patrick nods politely, grunts in agreement, and does everything he can to hopefully speed up this dreadful trip. Pete’s cheery, excited voice mixes with the terrible music blaring through the speakers, which only adds to Patrick’s already bad mood. The presence of the plug is felt with every step, and it’s not making things better.

Finally, Pete seems to be done and heads for the changing rooms. There’s three of them, all unoccupied, and at least the music is dulled out a little. Pete takes the last one, and drags Patrick with him because “you have to help me decide, Patrick, that’s why I brought you!”

Even under normal circumstances, Patrick couldn’t care less about what Pete wears for working out. And now, unable to sit with that goddamn butt plug shoved up his ass, cock pressing against his pants, Patrick has anything but gym equipment on his mind. Pete dumps the pile of clothes on a chair, picks out a shirt, and he’s saying something, except the words don’t really make sense. Patrick feels beads of sweat on his forehead, feels the heat radiating from his face, he’s combing his mind for an answer, for anything to say, but there’s just nothing.

 

Instead, there’s Pete’s hands on his shoulders now, pushing him against the wall, then there’s Pete’s knee pressing between his legs, and Pete’s lips on his to catch the moan that Patrick can’t hold back. Normally, Patrick wouldn’t have approved of such roughness out of nowhere, and in a public dressing room nonetheless. But normally, Patrick isn’t wearing a plug.

“I knew it,” Pete whispers triumphantly. He grinds closer, and Patrick can’t help but moan again; Pete’s leg is pushing against his ass, and Pete’s hips are pressing against Patrick’s unmistakable boner. “Fuck, Patrick, you’re really wearing a plug, aren’t you?”

“How the hell did you know?” Patrick asks through gritted teeth. The pressure of Pete’s body is nice, but it’s not enough. Not enough. Not enough. Nothing is enough.

“Maybe because you’ve been acting like a weirdo all day? And maybe because you look like you’re five seconds away from coming in your pants? You’re not exactly subtle, my dear. Also, I heard you moan in the bathroom… I put two and two together.”

“Fuck you,” Patrick grunts back, before realization hits him. “Wait. You knew, and still dragged me to the store?”

“You could’ve said no,” Pete hums with no sign of a bad conscience as he already unbuttons Patrick’s coat. “Could’ve taken that thing out before we left, too. But here we are…”

“I fucking hate you,” Patrick pants, and then he loses his ability to speak when Pete drags off his scarf, and kisses him again, dark and dirty, bodies crashing against each other. Pure lust seeps into Patrick’s veins, pure need is on the tip of his tongue as he kisses back fervently.

Somehow, Pete has worked open his pants, somehow said pants are shoved down to the floor and kicked aside. Patrick shrugs off his coat and somehow, the rational part of his brain isn’t strong enough to stop any of this from happening. All he can do is watch as Pete’s clothes join his on the floor. Patrick is still wearing his hoodie – as if that made much difference – but Pete takes off his cap, throws it to the pile of clothes.

Fuck, this isn’t good. They’re in public, in a dressing room in a shitty sports store; sure, there aren’t many other customers and sure, the terrible music might hide any noises. Still, it’s a stupid risk. Old Patrick never would’ve let this happen.

But Patrick decides his old self was an asshole, and also, his old self wasn’t a sex-deprived dad with a sex toy inside and a willing Pete in front of him. Pete is half-naked (still wearing his shirt as well, as if that was somehow the magic apology that made all of this decent), all tan tattooed skin and bright, wanting eyes under black lashes, the epitome of bad decisions and well, Patrick is a few years too late to be able to resist.

Two hands motion him to turn around, and Patrick complies. He feels Pete pressing against him, feels Pete’s erection poking into the small of his back and Pete’s hand running down his spine, wandering between his cheeks, grabbing the base of the plug. All of this is a terrible, terrible idea, and yet, all Patrick finds himself saying is “get that thing out, and your cock inside of me, _now_.”

Pete doesn’t need to be told twice. He pulls the plug out slowly, whispers filth into Patrick’s ear as he does so. “Damn, you look so pretty,” he whispers and Patrick would object if he trusted his voice. “All stretched out and ready for me, fuck, so good,” moaning, why is Patrick moaning at these silly words? “Can’t fucking wait, Patrick…”

With that, Pete throws the plug on the pile of clothes, and Pete prays no one heard the dull thump of heavy solid glass, and that it’s not his jacket the dirty thing landed on. Pete’s arms sling around him and Patrick turns around, eager for an embrace, friction, any kind of body contact.

Instead, Pete lifts him up. Patrick yelps, slings his arms around Pete’s neck and wraps his legs around Pete’s hips. He’s backed against the wall, with nothing to hold onto but Pete.

“I got you,” Pete whispers, all sly grin and mischief, but his arms do a good job of holding Patrick up so far.

“I’ll kill you if you let me fall,” Patrick hisses, only to get an eyeroll in response. He holds on tightly, despite knowing his muscles will ache later.

Pete lays his palm over Patrick’s mouth. Patrick is all lubed up, but Pete isn’t. “Lick,” he commands, and it’s gross and juvenile but Patrick just does as he’s told, curls his tongue over Pete’s fingers, licks a broad stripe over the palm, wet and messy.

Then, Pete reaches for his dick, and lines up with Patrick’s entrance.

The plug has done a good job of keeping Patrick open and ready, but Pete’s dick, despite the spit, is still a lot to take without more lube.

Patrick whimpers, then remembers that they’re still in public; he stops himself from making any more noise by biting into Pete’s shoulder, and curls his hands into fists as Pete pushes in further. Patrick can feel his thighs shaking, a little overwhelmed with the strain. But there’s nowhere to go but further down Pete’s cock.

The position doesn’t allow for much finesse, so Pete slides in all in one go; it’s faster and rougher than Patrick usually takes it, and his teeth bite further into soft flesh as he stops himself from crying out. They’ll leave a bruise, but Patrick considers that well-deserved.

Once he’s bottomed out, Pete tries to hold still, hands digging into Patrick’s flesh; enough to give a delicious sense of pain, the relieving impression of being held, strong and secure. Patrick relaxes a little, feels how he shifts from being overwhelmed to wanting more. Pete’s cock fills him up perfectly, much better than a sterile plug, and Patrick has been waiting for this for too fucking long now.

Patrick tries to move a little, but he’s pressed against a wall, and his moving range is limited. It’s frustrating enough to let him groan louder than he probably should, and oh please, hopefully, there isn’t anyone around to hear that.

“Dammit,” Patrick says through gritted teeth, “be a good boy and fucking do something, Pete!”

“As you wish,” Pete hums in a low voice, and he snaps his hips forwards, thrusts roughly into Patrick who groans too loud again. It takes a while until Pete finds a good angle and the right pace; Patrick knows it must be hard on Pete to hold him up and fuck him right at the same time.

The last bit of rational thought is drowned out by pure pleasure, as Pete’s next thrust finds his prostate. It’s sharp and intense, and Patrick buries his head into Pete’s neck, moans his arousal into sweaty skin, hopes Pete’s ears are the only ones hearing it. His cock is still untouched, trapped between their bodies, but Patrick doesn’t dare to let go of Pete’s shoulders yet.

He can hear Pete breathing heavily, hears a choked-back sob as he tightens around Pete’s dick. “Don’t you fucking dare come first,” Patrick hisses, “I didn’t go to all this trouble for nothing.”

“You’re a bossy asshole,” Pete hisses back, and Patrick feels Pete’s hands digging further into his skin, blunt nails leaving red half-moons and fingers painting color to pale skin.

“You love it,” Patrick whispers smugly, because he knows it’s true. He still hasn’t changed that much in bed (or, well, any other place Pete and he had sex over the years) and Pete, despite his ego, is still a huge sucker for it.

Pete lets out a chuckle, low and dirty, and Patrick has to press his mouth against the curve of his neck to stop himself from crying out as Pete increases speed, fucks into him harder than before, cock slamming against Patrick’s prostate with each thrust.

It’s rough and desperate and dirty, and it’s weird to be pressed against the wall with no other option than to just take it. Patrick still moans as he bites another bruise into Pete’s neck, high enough that Pete will have to wear a scarf to hide it. Possessiveness flashes through Patrick. It’s childish, but Patrick can’t bring himself to care. He better get something to show for this, pretty colors imprinted onto Pete that he can run his thumb over in the coming days as a reminder of today.

Right now though, all Patrick craves is sweet release, to finally, finally get what he’s craved ever since he woke up today. He dares to remove his right arm from Pete’s shoulder, works his hand between their bodies, wraps his fingers around his cock. With Pete’s dick pressed against his prostate, Pete’s body pressed close against his, with sweat and heat and every inch of his skin on fire, it only takes a few strokes for Patrick to fall apart. He comes hard, clenching down tight around Pete’s dick as the intensity of the orgasm that has been building up inside of him all day brings tears to his eyes.

Everything is too much, but there’s nothing left in Patrick to say anything. He just holds on tight to Pete, bites another bruise to his neck as Pete finally comes, too.

For a moment, neither of them move. Then, Pete pulls out, gently lets Patrick down, although he can barely stand up. Patrick is shaking, muscles screaming from the strain, and he feels sore and empty. Pete holds him up a little longer, for which he is very grateful; Patrick is sure he would’ve just sunk down to the ground otherwise. Eventually, Pete motions him to turn around, presses a kiss to Patrick’s neck and then he’s gone.

Pete’s back just a few seconds later. “Spread your legs,” he growls, voice dark and loaded with dirty intent.

“Pete, what –“ Patrick stops himself when he feels the blunt, hard glass between his cheeks.

“How about a second round back home?” Pete whispers; he doesn’t move the plug, doesn’t force anything, he knows better than that. He’s waiting for approval, and fuck, Patrick feels his resistance melting already; Pete will get what he wants.

“This is gross,” Patrick mumbles weakly, but the low moan and the way he arches his back betray his words. Slowly, Pete pushes the plug back in; Patrick is fucked loose, still slick from lube and weak from his orgasm, so the toy slides in with little resistance.

Once the plug sits secure inside of him again, Patrick dresses himself with shaky hands, anticipation and the dawn of arousal running through his veins. He catches sight of himself in the mirror and fuck, they both look like a hot mess. Patrick tries to smooth his hair, glad that he can hide most of himself under his coat and the baseball cap, and throws his scarf over to Pete. Once they’re dressed, they look passable in Patrick’s eyes. He motions towards the shirts and pants Pete has picked out for trying on.

“You’re just gonna buy all of these,” Patrick demands, because really, it’s the least they can do for abusing the dressing room. “Try them on at home, bring back what you don’t like, I don’t care. For now, just buy this shit and then let’s get out of here. I’ll wait in the car.”

There’s enough authority in his voice to signal Pete that there’s no debate to be had here. Pete throws him the keys, and Patrick keeps his head down while he flees to the car. He feels a little more secure once he sits behind the dark glass windows. Pete joins him soon afterwards, throws the shopping bags into the back and then slides into the seat next to Patrick.

“Hey, could we go to Starbucks before we get home?” Pete asks innocently, and it takes a lot of strength to not punch him.

“I think the fuck not,” Patrick says instead, like a mature adult would. “Drive, Pete.”

Good boy that he is, Pete takes the hint and shuts his mouth for the rest of the drive home. The prospect of sex always helps him behave, Patrick knows that.

 

Back home, there’s no holding back. A trail of clothes is left on the floor, but when they stumble into the bedroom, sleep is the furthest thing from Patrick’s mind. He lets himself fall onto the mattress, only for Pete to manhandle him on all fours again. He feels Pete’s hands trailing down his back, squeezing his butt and spreading his cheeks; then, Pete’s tongue licks over his rim, hot and wet and fuck, that feels amazing. Pete keeps doing that while pulling out the plug, and damn, that’s already enough for getting Patrick fully hard again.

Once the plug is out, Pete pulls away. Patrick can’t help but moan at the loss; it feels so weird, being this empty again, being this stretched and wet with Pete’s cum dripping out of him.

“God, Patrick, what a view you make,” Pete hums, hands still frustratingly far away from Patrick’s dick.

“Pete,” Patrick whispers, afraid that if he talks any louder, it would be just embarrassing sobs, “quit just staring at me and do something.”

Thankfully, Pete does as he’s told. He bows down, and then Patrick feels Pete’s tongue circling his rim again. It’s kinda disgusting given the things they’ve already done, but Patrick is far from objecting. Two fingers are slid into him, keeping him open together with Pete’s tongue, and Patrick arches his back, tries to push against them, hisses and groans for more. He’s buzzing with arousal, not as desperate as the first time, but more intense.

When Pete pulls away again, Patrick is trembling, cock leaking already, and everything aches for Pete’s dick inside of him. Pete sits behind him on his knees, and Patrick gathers what little coherency he has.

“Get some fucking lube,” he says through gritted teeth. “Your dick is going nowhere near me without that again. I’m gonna be sore already, idiot, don’t make it any worse.”

Without a word, Pete reaches into the drawer of his nightstand, and retrieves a bottle of the desired lube. He slicks himself up, and when Patrick nods, Pete lines up with his entrance.

Patrick feels the blunt head pushing inside of him, and this time, he has little trouble taking Pete’s cock. He presses his face into the pillows, waits until Pete is buried to the hilt. Ragged breath and the smell of sex fills the room; the touch of Pete’s hands on his hips feels like fire, and the stretch of Pete’s cock inside of him soon makes Patrick yearn for a repetition of what they did earlier. He pushes back against it, tries to work out the right angle and pace with Pete, moans each time Pete’s dick brushes against his prostate.

It’s a little overwhelming, much more intense than the first time, just on the edge of being too much. Patrick is still trembling, aching a little but he can’t help but keep pushing back against the burn, wanting even more. He reaches for his dick, but instead, Pete wraps his arm around his chest and pulls him up. Patrick lets out a surprised gasp, his back now flush against Pete’s chest. He usually doesn’t like being manhandled this much during sex, but in this position, Pete’s cock finally hits his prostate just right, enough to make Patrick’s vision blur as white heat pours into his stomach. Every snarky remark goes right out the window when Pete thrusts into him again, finds that perfect spot that makes Patrick see stars.

Pete’s lips press hot, wet kisses to sweat-soaked skin, teeth grazing over soft flesh; and then his hand is on Patrick’s cock, strokes him fast and rough and just the way he knows Patrick likes it. All Patrick can do is give in, sink back against Pete as he comes with a sharp cry, losing himself in the blissful lust.

When the last waves of his orgasm ebb away, Patrick feels exhausted, strung out yet high-strung, over-sensitive to everything. Pete moves a little, and Patrick whines a little; everything is just painfully too much.

Pete knows him well enough to realize he’s overstimulated, and knows well enough to pull out. He hasn’t come yet, and Patrick feels a little bad for that, especially given the way he had bitched at Pete earlier. It’s still Valentine’s Day, so Patrick decides his husband has earned something special. Pete grabs his dick, ready to just jerk himself off, but Patrick bats his hand away.

“Wanna fuck my thighs?” Patrick asks in a low voice, and Pete’s eyes light up. They don’t do this very often, mostly because Patrick gets nothing out of it aside from red, burning skin and cum on his legs while feeling slightly awkward. But Patrick has had his fair share of fun, he’s sated and happy and he wants Pete to be happy, too.

“You bet your ass I want to!” Pete’s grin widens, and Patrick gets back on all fours, presses his legs as close together as possible. Pete stares at him with unabashed hunger, enjoying a view he so rarely gets. Then, he slides his cock between Patrick’s thighs, moans loudly as he starts to move. His dick is still slicked up enough to let everything go smoothly, it doesn’t burn as badly as it does without lube, which Patrick is very grateful for. He feels too tired and drained to give any sort of encouraging performance, but thankfully, Pete seems to be perfectly content with entertaining himself between his legs. A few more thrusts, a stuttered “fuck, Patrick, fuck!”, then Pete comes, staining Patrick’s thighs with hot, white ribbons of cum.

Patrick slumps forward with a groan, rolls on his back, sighs as his heated skin meets the soft, cool mattress. Of course, that is ruined immediately by Pete laying down next to him – more on him than the mattress – cuddly as always after sex. Patrick just lets him, despite their shared body heat not being quite comfortable.

 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Patrick says weakly, and Pete, that fucker, laughs.

“Happy Valentine’s Day indeed,” he says with an incredibly annoying sense of righteousness. “Hey, it’s not over yet, but… I enjoyed what we did so far.”

“I’m not doing anything else today,” Patrick scoffs. “It’s movies and ordering in. No way I will move anywhere besides to the couch. Also, I’ll never set foot into that shop again, ever. You understand?”

“Fine,” Pete says theatrically, “I’ll just take you to the record store next time.”

“Now that sounds like a plan.” Patrick yawns, pushes Pete off of him to sit up, and lets out a breath. He’s had sleep, sex, and now – fuck, the baby.

With a sudden burst of energy, Patrick stumbles out of bed, and rushes to the hallway. Where the fuck has he left his damn phone? What if his mom called, what if something happened and he didn’t notice because he was too busy with butt plugs and Pete’s cock? Oh God, Patrick feels like the very worst parent already.

The phone still sits in the pocket of his jacket. There’s a message from his mom, oh God, Patrick’s heart is racing. He opens the message – only to find a picture of a blissfully sleeping Lilly, and a short message that everything is okay. With a deep sigh, Patrick wanders back into the bedroom, and falls back into the mattress. He has avoided the worst parent award for today at least.

“You good?” Pete asks, eyebrows raised.

“The baby is okay,” Patrick replies, and Pete just chuckles.

“Of course she’s okay, haven’t you seen your mom’s message? She sent that to me as well. Texted her we were alright while I was paying for my new clothes.”

“Please tell me next time,” Patrick sighs, “I feel like the worst dad ever.”

Pete just laughs, and shakes his head. “You’re doing amazing, Patrick, stop worrying. Everything’s fine. Hey,” his tone shifts to smugness, “wanna take a bath again?”

“Fuck you,” Patrick mumbles back, though he nods anyway. He very much enjoyed that bath alone, without any babies or husbands, but well. It’s Valentine’s Day, he owes Pete a little and also, Patrick feels sweaty and dirty with the aftermath of sex.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be just you and me and –“ Pete sits up, and reaches for his drawer. He gets out a bright pink, heart-shaped thing – a bath bomb, Patrick realizes.

“Are you kidding me?” Patrick eyes it closely. There’s goddamn rose petals baked into it, and he’s sure he sees glitter. “What the hell is this, and why the fuck to you keep it in your kinky drawer?”

“It’s for Valentine’s Day, dumbass.” Pete rolls his eyes. “And I kept it out of your sight so that you wouldn’t secretly throw it away and pretend it never existed. We’re having a romantic bath, and that’s it. And then it’s Netflix and pizza and whatever but please, just a little bit?”

Pete is pulling the puppy eyes, the same trick he has used since forever, and yet Patrick can’t resist. Fifteen minutes later, he finds himself in the bathtub for the second time today, with Pete between his legs, in pink glittery water that smells way too much like artificial flowers while the dead petals of the poor roses who died for this float through the water. Really, it’s a sign of true love for his husband that Patrick got into this tub without being physically forced.

“I kinda miss Lilly,” Patrick mumbles, and rests his chin on Pete’s head. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, that is very much true; no matter how much Patrick reminds himself of the screaming and crying and the dirty diapers, he can’t help but feel like something, no, someone is missing. Dammit, being a dad really made him sentimental.

“Me too,” Pete says. There’s a thoughtful pause, then he adds: “Hey, Patrick. I want another.”

“Another what?” Patrick asks dumbfounded.

“Another baby, idiot. Not now, but… Maybe one day?” Pete tenses a little in his arms, but Patrick only lets out a lighthearted laugh. It’s the first time Pete has ever expressed his wish for more than one child. He guesses they’re both getting softer.

“One day,” Patrick promises, then pulls Pete closer. One day, yes, he’s sure, and it doesn’t matter how much hardship there will be, he knows that with Pete at his side, they can get through all the sleepless, screaming nights, all the dirty diapers, every fear and everything else. But for now, they’re sitting in silence, the hot, flower-scented air swirling around them, warm water and warm bodies, blissful and serene.

**Author's Note:**

> And there we go! I hope you enjoyed this. Not really what I usually write, so I'd love to hear your feedback! 
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day, and don't forget to check out the other amazing stories in the collection!~


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